


Will it burn forever (this light)

by elareine



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Minor Character Deaths mentioned, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Fucking around with Arthurian legends, Gen, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Non-Graphic Violence, Outdoor Sex, Post-Canon, Small Fandom Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-15 23:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: “He wants something,” Mage said. “He wants something very badly, and in his dark desire, he is willing to use any means. Violence is not his first choice, but it might come to that, if we don’t find him. Whatever he wants, he desires, he needs. I can feel it.”Arthur cocked his head. “Would eternal life be the sort of thing you’re thinking of?”Tristan turned to stare at him.“You have an idea, then?” Sir Bedivere asked.Arthur shrugged. “So there was this knight…”(Or: Arthur was getting married to someone else. Sadly, that turned out to be the least of Tristan’s problems.)





	Will it burn forever (this light)

**Author's Note:**

> This was created for the Small Fandom Big Bang. Check out the amazing podcast by Annapods! 
> 
> I can't give enough thanks to prettylittlepliers for the beta. 
> 
> About the consent issue (spoilers): Two characters have sex thinking they are under the influence of a love potion, but aren't. Before that, there is cuddling. Both have had feelings and desire of intimacy for each other before the intake of the love potion. There's obviously still a feeling of violation at having those feelings toyed with, however.

The whole thing started with Arthur announcing to his round table that he was going to marry. At breakfast, because that was the way things were done in this kingdom.

Sir Bedivere was ecstatic, of course - he’d been the one hounding Arthur about it, citing the need for stability and “look what happened the last time we lost the Crown Prince”. He was already thinking out loud about possible alliances when Arthur interrupted him with: “No, I’m not doing that.”

Sir Bedivere raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Here’s what’s going to happen if you try to secure a political alliance,” Arthur told him. “You’re going to start talks with rich and powerful fathers of women who are likely way too young for me. All of these fathers will open negotiations with pointing out that I’m not that much of a catch.”

“Raised in a brothel, you know.” Tristan added.

“Bit of gutter stench clinging, maybe.”

“Terrible table manners.”

“Which they will be right about, of course. So we’ll likely get a terrified young thing that is forced into marriage,” Arthur continued, “which I am not into, Sir Bedivere, not my thing.”

Sir Bedivere sighed, but Tristan noticed he didn’t look too annoyed. “And what do you propose instead, my king?”

“Gwen.”

Every man at the table tensed. Most of them because they tried to imagine how a sex worker come resistance fighter would come over as a queen, and Tristan because he was fully prepared to help Arthur punch anyone who made an insulting remark. George looked as implacable as always, but he suspected he’d help, too.

Maggie, however, nodded. “That seems like a good idea.”

“Does it?” Goosefat Bill asked. He sounded amused, at least.

“She’s experienced and clever, with strong visions of how to help the country. She’d make a good co-ruler. And I honestly think the people will be less of a problem than you’re all thinking right now. After Vortigen, they just want someone to care about them,” Maggie pointed out.

Sir George spoke: “She’s right.”

Tristan could see on Sir Bedivere’s face that he was mentally mourning the politically advantageous alliances he could have made, but the man agreed: “I see. Have you asked her already?”

“Of course,” Arthur looked affronted.

“Well then, I guess that’s settled. Congratulations on your engagement, my king.”

“Thank you.”

Everyone turned back to their food, at last.

Then Arthur said: “Oh, and we will be adopting Blue.”

 

Since Arthur’s was a reign that didn’t tend to wait idly, the engagement was announced a few days later. Sir Bedivere had gotten his way, with Maggie’s support, in that there would be a huge wedding feast, allowing the people to celebrate with their king and meet their new queen.

Come spring, Arthur would be a married man.

That part was still a bit confusing to Tristan, though, seeing how he’d kind of thought he and Arthur had something going. Granted, the revelation of Arthur being the true-born king had been a bit of a distraction. And they had never talked about it, even before.

Maybe it was time that changed. Tristan wasn’t as quick to jump into confrontation as most of his friends, though, and it took him some time. Even once he’d decided that yes, it would likely be excruciating, but they needed to talk, it took him over a week to get an opportunity to do so. Arthur wasn’t alone often, these days.

So when he saw his king sitting alone by one of the fires in the great hall, he was quick to take his chance and stretch out on the seat next to him.  “Hey.”

Arthur smiled at him. It looked unusually tentative for him. Tristan almost dared to think it looked shy, but this was Arthur. “Hey. Join me for a drink?”

“Sure.”

It was a bit disturbing, the way just looking at Arthur’s face made Tristan’s chest hurt sometimes. Usually, it was familiar, comforting even: A face he had seen change from boy to man, one he associated with loyalty more than anything else. And then, sometimes, Arthur would smile at a friend or nod gravely at something a child was saying or just stare into the distance, even, or do nothing in particular, and Tristan’s heart sighed.

Arthur, unaware of such thoughts about his face, poured them both wine. The gesture should have reassured Tristan - Arthur still had the same manners as before he became king - but instead, it saddened him. “Man, Back Lack would have loved the quality of alcohol we’re drinking these days.”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, they were quiet, thinking of their dead friend. Arthur snorted. “Not sure about the hobnobbing though.”

“Oh, because you’re such a natural at it.”

“You’re one to talk, _Sir_ _Tristan_.”

Tristan laughed. “Alright, that’s still weird, but imagine the looks we’d get if you called me ‘Sir Wet Stick’.”

“Sounds like a nickname the girls would give.”

Tristan just winked. “You know it, baby.”

“Oh, do I,” Arthur smirked.

….well. This was one way to talk about their relationship status. Not exactly the way Tristan would have chosen to bring it up, but when did anything ever go as he planned? He’d wanted to become a bookkeeper for a merchant, had become assistant clerk and enforcer in the brothel his childhood friend ran instead, and now he was a knight of the king.

“I don’t know, do you?” And asking said king whether he wanted to see Tristan’s dick now, apparently. This wasn’t awkward at all. “Wait, that came out weird.”

“Yes, it did,” Arthur agreed. “You asking about Gwen?”

Tristan silently thanked God that Arthur was far more quick on the uptake than he looked. “Yeah. Came as a bit of a surprise.”

“Why? ‘Queen’ is a title, a position. I looked for someone who would do well, and Gwen will do an excellent job.”

“I’m sure she will.”

“I’m trying to give England what it needs,” Arthur explained, slowly, as if he was making sure Tristan heard every word, “while also leaving room for what _I_ need. What I want.”

Arthur’s gaze was burning, and suddenly, Tristan’s throat was very dry.

“Well then,” Tristan grabbed and raised his cup, “to the future.”

Arthur smiled and clinked his own cup with Tristan’s. “To the future.”

Tristan raised his cup to his lips and took a good, long sip, all the while holding Arthur’s gaze. And froze. That hadn’t tasted right at all. He wanted to warn Arthur, but he was already swallowing, too, both of them having been too distracted to spit the drink out immediately.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, waiting for the other to keel over. Arthur looked… fine, though. No choking, no turning red, not even breathing faster. Tristan didn’t feel anything, either. Slight tingle in his throat when it went down, but nothing now. Why would someone put something into Arthur’s wine canter if it wasn’t deadly? Maybe it was a slow-acting thing?

Minutes passed in silence. Nothing.

“Did someone just poison us in the middle of my hall?” Arthur asked.

“Well, if it’s poison, it’s a shit one,” Tristan said, “cause I don’t feel anything.”

Arthur shook his head sadly. “No quality poisoners anymore, these days.”

“The world has come down so.”

“We’ll just ignore it, then, and beat the hell out of whoever put that into our drinks.”

Tristan winced internally. Oh hello, Arthur’s semi-constant death wish. “Let’s at least tell someone, though. What if we both keel over in two hours and no one has any idea what the cause is?”

“Who do we have who knows anything about poisons?”

“Uh.” Tristan thought. “Old Cyrus, maybe. No idea if he’s alive though.”

“Exactly.”

“Still.”

“Alright, alright,” Arthur sighed. “I’ll let Percy know, he’s on guard duty tonight.”

He seemed reluctant to get up, though. So was Tristan. Well, he wouldn’t have minded moving if it meant getting closer to Arthur, crawl into his lap, maybe, settle into those strong arms and then - whooooah. Where did that come from? Admittedly, he always found Arthur attractive and wouldn’t mind finally exploring that attraction with him, but somehow he had a feeling that right after an attempted poisoning was not the best time for this.

To cover his confusion and the arousal slowly spreading through his veins, he sighed and got up. “Well, better get myself to bed. We got a poisoner to catch in the morning.”

Arthur gripped his hand, and for a moment, Tristan thought the other man would hold him back, draw Tristan into him, but no, he just squeezed once, saying: “Good night.”

Tristan smiled, answered with his own “Good night,” and fled.

 

“Something evil is moving.”

“Hello, Mage,” Arthur smiled. “Long time no see. How are you? Because I couldn’t ask you, seeing how you just vanished and didn’t leave an address.”

Mage was way too dignified to roll her eyes, but her gaze revealed her contempt at concepts like ‘adresses’ more than aptly. “I am telling you,” she said, now addressing the entire round table, “Merlin is worried. Some evil machinations have been put into place, and we cannot yet see their goal.”

“Would that possibly include trying to poison Arthur, if unsuccessfully?” Tristan asked.

Everyone but Arthur and Mage startled.

“Why am I only hearing this now?” Sir Bedivere asked. “This is the sort of thing you tell your seneschall, Arthur. Someone tried to poison you?”

“Both of us,” Arthur gestured at himself and Tristan.

“Because you gave me wine from your decanter, Arthur - who is more likely to be the target here?” Tristan asked, exasperated.

“Do you have the liquid still?” Mage interrupted the blossoming argument.

“No, we-” Tristan started, but at the same time Arthur pulled out a flask and gave it to her. “Yes, here.”

Without any ceremony, Mage dumped the contents on the metal part of the table. Taking a pouch from her belt, she sprinkled a greenish powder over it. She wasn’t saying anything, but when he looked closely, Tristan could see her eyes change colour just a bit.

“Love potion.”

“I beg your pardon?” Goosefat Bill asked.

“It’s a potion meant to induce strong romantic and sexual feelings,” Mage rephrased.

“Yeah, that’s not - why would someone administer that?”

Gwen frowned. “When was this?”

“Two nights ago,” Arthur informed her.

“I was in Londinium then,” she pondered.

Arthur caught on first. “So the idea was to get me to what - cheat?”

She shrugged. “I mean, we’re selling the kingdom the idea this is a love match. I’ve seen plays about you as star-crossed lovers finding each other, the hidden true-born king and his common beloved who he stays faithful to.”

“So if someone believes that and wants to cause some trouble, a love potion while you aren’t there might look like a good idea,” Arthur concluded.

“But who?” Tristan asked. This seemed the sort of thing a bard might write a love comedy about, but as one of the ones who had drunk the concoction, he wasn’t finding it particularly amusing.

“You have plenty of political enemies - and personal ones, might I add, but something like this…” Goosefat Bill shook his head.

“He wants something,” Mage said. “He wants something very badly, and in his dark desire, he is willing to use any means. Violence is not his first choice, but it might be, if we don’t find him. Whatever he wants, he desires, he _needs_. I can feel it.”

Arthur cocked his head. “Would eternal life be the sort of thing you’re thinking of?”

Tristan turned to stare at him. Several others did the same.

“You have an idea, then?” Sir Bedivere asked.

Arthur shrugged. “So there was this knight…”

 

_“Your name?”_

_“Sir Ither of Kukumerlant, your Majesty.”_

_Arthur studied him. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, not bad looking at all, but his smile didn’t ring true. “One of Vortigen’s knights, yes?”_

_“A hereditary title. I believe it was my great-grandfather that was first knighted by yours.”_

_“Have you come to pay your respects, then?_

_“That, and I have a request, if you grant me the bonus to speak of it.”_

_Internally, Arthur rolled his eyes. How people spoke to him these days… “Speak.”_

_“I’m looking for the Holy Grail.”_

_“I was under the impression that was in the Holy Land,” Arthur stated. “Are you seeking permission to travel?”_

_Sir Ither smiled. “I think you are referring to the Holy Chalice used at the Last Supper, your Majesty, which is indeed rumoured to be in the Holy Land. I, however, am seeking the Holy Grail, source of eternal youth.”_

_“Eternal youth.”_

_“I have studied several texts, including those of Joseph of Arimathea, and I believe it to be true. I’ll be glad to show the evidence to you.”_

_“And where,” Arthur asked, “do you believe this Holy Grail to be?”_

_“All signs point to this castle.”_

_Arthur looked around. Sure, this castle held more secrets than he’d likely ever know, but a holy object that could keep a man forever young? That seemed a bit much. And it was even more unlikely that Vortigen had overlooked that. His uncle had seemed the type to go for eternal life and power. “Here?”_

_“Hidden, of course.” Sir Ither made an expansive gestures. “I know the signs, your Majesty. Give me some time, and I will find it.”_

_“Pray tell, what do you propose to do with the grail once did?”_

_“Secure eternal youth for you, of course.”_

_Arthur lifted his eyebrows. “And have a little bit of it for you, as well, I assume.”_

_The knight smirked. “Well, there must be some reward for the seeker or he wouldn’t go out to search at all, would he?”_

_“No.”_

_Sir Ither looked taken aback. “No?”_

_“No.”_

_“But -”_

_“No.”_

_This was clearly not the way Sir Ither had imagined this talk going. Arthur didn’t exactly care. People had to learn he wasn’t his uncle one way or another._

_“Why?” the knight asked._

_“Do you know how quacks make their living, Sir Ither?”_

_“I… they sell fake medicine?”_

_“By promising youth,” Arthur said, “health. Wealth and happiness and beauty, sure, but most of all youth. I don’t trust anyone or anything that would offer it.”_

_“But your Majesty, the Holy Grail is-”_

_Arthur let steel infuse his voice. “I said no, Sir Ither. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”_

 

“So Sir Ither, hmm?” Goosefat Bill mused. “The Red Knight of Kukumerlant.”

“Let me guess,” Tristan said, “he chose that name for himself.”

“Got it in one.”

Sir Bedivere was too dignified to roll his eyes at them, but Tristan could see that he wanted to. “His fortress is in Oxmarch, which is clay country. Red clay. He also wears red armour.”

Bill made a waving motion with his hand. “Eh, details.”

“He attacked his king and future queen for the sake of a trinket,” Arthur brought them back on topic. “What do you suggest we do about that?”

“We go and send out troops after him,” Sir Percival said. “I can get them ready in three days time.”

“That’s what he wants,” Arthur objected. “Sow distrust, tie us up here, get our soldiers to his castle - it leaves the ground open for his search.”

“So what do you propose?”

“We go as a small group, and we leave tonight.”

“It has the element of surprise,” Sir Bedivere conceded.

George frowned. “But it is a heavily armed castle. Are you certain we will win that fight?”

“Yes.” Arthur’s voice was firm, but Tristan was sitting to his right and could see Arthur’s hand clench around the sword on his hip. He wanted to take that hand, relax it, soothe whatever had Arthur so tense at the prospect of using his sword again, but. This wasn’t exactly the time or place.

“I’ll come along,” Gwen said. “I’m not officially your deputy yet and I won’t have many opportunities to leave in the future.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bill grinned, “the way I see this reign going, there’ll be plenty of adventure for everyone.”

Arthur ignored him. “Maggie, will you hold the fort?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Would you like to appear as though you didn’t leave?”

“That would be good.”

“Then I advise you to take up hunting.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Hunting.”

“Regular trips into the countryside, you and a few trusted knights. Sometimes real, sometimes a cover.”

“A very good strategy,” Sir Bedivere agreed. It was, though Tristan wasn’t exactly looking forward to extended outdoor stays in his future. He was still a city boy at heart and held no love for tents.

“Noted,” Arthur said. “Anything else? No? Then let’s get ready. There’s a knight I’d really like to have a personal talk with.”

 

It took them all night and most of the following day to reach Oxmarch castle. It wasn’t nearly as heavily fortified as Camelot, but it still presented enough of a challenge that Tristan was starting to have doubts.

“That’s twenty sentries on the Northern wall,” he told Arthur, “and I counted at least thirty on the Western one.”

“So we get in through the East or South.”

“The part that’s only cliff, you mean? With the sixty foot drop right into the ocean?”

“Exactly.” Arthur waited, but no one was giving him the satisfaction of asking, so he said: “Bill, Gwen, you’re going to give us cover. Try not to shoot anyone if you don’t have to. I want this to be a surprise.”

“I will watch and my animals will assist,” Mage said. “There is a way, the doves tell me, along the Eastern cliff. The youth climbs it for dares. I will show you when the time comes.”

“And once we’re inside?” George asked.

“Find Sir Ither and we’re good,” Sir Bedivere replied. “Let’s hope there aren’t too many soldiers between him and us. They look prepared for a siege.”

“Good thing that’s not what we’re doing then, right?” Bill rubbed his hands together. Tristan knew he liked a challenge, and it had been a while since he’d been allowed to shoot people in the dark.

“We wait until it’s night. Get some rest,” Arthur ordered.

No one was going to object to that. They made camp quickly, though a fire was obviously out of the question. They were far too close to the castle to risk being that visible. Tristan was just about to cozy up to the most comfortable looking tree when he realized Arthur was giving him a sign. Right hand on his belt, thumb hooked in, left hand pointing towards the ground. “We need to talk without the others.” They’d used it countless times to discuss whether they really wanted to engage in that particular shady business deal.

Most of the others were already settled down, and luckily it was Mage who had first watch. She was by far the least likely to comment on the way Arthur left to sleep some distance away, and how Tristan joined him there a short time later.

Arthur was leaning on the trunk of a tree, his face weary. Tristan paused and took a second to study him.

Now that he thought about it, Tristan realized that the Arthur he saw here - was privileged to see, really - wasn’t quite the same one as the one that reigned a kingdom. Now, maybe that would seem obvious to everyone else? But to Tristan, Arthur was still the same, just with a bit more responsibility. Yes, he hadn’t been happy at the whole ‘true-born king’ thing at first, but Tristan had watched Arthur grow from a skinny street kid to an ebullient man that took care of everyone he thought belonged with him. Once he’d had some time to reflect on it, he wasn’t actually that surprised that circle eventually grew to include an entire kingdom. He hadn’t doubted for a second that Arthur would make the change from ‘survive’ to ‘conquer’ eventually. And Arthur hadn’t changed his way of dealing with things at all. He spoke to people the same, treated them just as before, made jokes, thought of clever plans and insulted someone’s parentage in the same breath as always.

The Arthur leaning against the tree trunk, though? That was the Arthur that had spent years being an insomniac because of his bad dreams. The one that had fought and fought and fought to become stronger, to be able to protect the women who raised him from the violence he saw threaten them every day. The one that had kissed Tristan that one drunk evening and then looked as if he didn’t quite know what to do with that.

Tristan closed the distance between them and hugged Arthur, hard. Immediately, strong hands came up to pull him closer.

Actual, physical relief flooded through him at Arthur’s touch. He hadn’t felt it at all since they figured out they’d been given a love potion. Admittedly, there were also the logistical problems of touching while on two separate horses. Tristan was pretty sure he would never be desperate enough to endure the teasing that would ensue if they just randomly started sharing a horse. (Not to mention that they probably shouldn’t do that to a poor horse.) Still, thanks to the potion it had felt like deprivation, longing for something he’d had never had in the first place.

“This is kinda fucked up,” Arthur chuckled. It didn’t sound very happy.

“Yeah,” Tristan sighed. His skin was heating up wherever it touched Arthur’s. Their closeness filled him with something approaching joy, but he couldn’t trust any of it.

“Still, I’m so glad it was me,” he confessed into Arthur’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be - this had been forced on them, and he should be cursing it with everything he had, but the thought of Arthur suddenly loving someone else, having these feelings with someone else, holding someone else at the eve of battle… it didn’t bear thinking about. Or even worse, Arthur being the only one drinking the potion, wasting away loving someone he shouldn’t.

“So am I,” Arthur whispered. “So am I.”

Then, because this was still Arthur and he didn’t do feelings all that well, he added: “Can you imagine if it had been Bill?”

Tristan giggled. It was very unmanly and he didn’t care. “Seducing you with that sexy, sexy mustache.”

“Be still, my beating heart.”

“Shut up and get some rest. My king.”

 

It was only after he had de-tangled himself and gone to take over the last watch shift before George came to get him that Tristan realised that they had just been physically intimate for the first time and it had been because the potion made them crave the other’s touch. They had both experienced the want, Tristan was pretty sure, but did that really make it consensual? He would ask Arthur, after the battle.

Tristan winced at himself. That was the kind of thought that got people killed in that exact battle, he was sure. Still, there was nothing he could do about it now, so he focused back on his guard duty.

By the time the others got up and ready for seizing the castle, he was fully focused on the task ahead. There was a twitch in his hand when Arthur showed up, sure, a desire to hold onto him again, but he suppressed it easily.

Time to climb the wall.

Mage’s doves had told her the truth - there were footholds and rough edges to hold onto along the upwards path she showed them. The climbers made quick progress, barely hindered by the need to be silent.

George was up first, Tristan right behind him. They stopped when they had almost reached the top and did a quick check of those beneath them - all present and accounted for. At George’s nod, Lancelot, the one the furthest down, dropped a handkerchief. For a moment, there was perfect silence, and Tristan focused on keeping his grip. Then they heard a quiet, whooshing sound, then another, followed in quick succession by two heavy somethings hitting the ground.

Their way was free, thanks to Bill and Gwen. Three minutes later, King Arthur and his knights had entered Sir Ither’s castle.

No one had noticed them yet, but there was a garrison stationed in front of the main building. Shit, shit, shit. Looked like they were really prepared for an attack.

Beside him, he heard Arthur taking a deep breath and the slide of a sword leaving its scabbard. “George, Sir Bedivere, you go up the right balustrade. Tristan, Lancelot, you’re on the left. Make sure the can’t shoot their arrows into the courtyard.”

Sir Bedivere nodded and whispered to Tristan and Lancelot: “Bill and Gwen will pick off the sentries at the wall once Mage tells them the fighting has started. Make sure any remaining ones are taking care of, too.”

No one needed to ask what Arthur would be doing.

Lancelot went first, Tristan closely following. There was no point in spreading out on this small balustrade. Better to provide direct assistance. From what he’d seen, Lancelot was a gifted swordsman, but not quite used to back-stabbing.

The first guard was too surprised to cry out. Lancelot just hit him in the back of the neck and he slumped down with a dull sound. Tristan was already moving on to his closest comrade, disposing of him before he had a chance to be alarmed at the sound. The third guard saw them coming and gave a warning yell before they knocked him out.

After that, it became more difficult. The guards were alerted now, and several more came pouring out of a small hut at the end of the balustrade. Must have been keeping ready, the bastards. At least the pathway was narrow enough that they couldn’t attack Lancelot and Tristan all at once. Tristan tripped the first one to reach them into the courtyard and Lancelot engaged the second one, apparently one of the commanders, in a sword fight. For Tristan, it turned into an all out melee, trying to keep them away from the happenings in the courtyard (from where he could hear yelling even over the sounds of his own fight). At some point he had to throw one of his knives at an archer getting ready to fire. It gave him some satisfaction that it didn’t miss.

Sadly, this also gave one of the soldiers the opening he needed to slash at his wrist. Tristan managed to move it enough that it didn’t cut too deep into the skin, but the blunt edge of the weapon did considerable damage on its own. He cursed and switched sword hands. Thank God for George and his insistence that they should become as near to ambidextrous as they could.

Luckily, time was on their side. Soldiers were slower in coming, and when Tristan dared to glance towards the other side of the ring, he could see them standing there, just staring at the courtyard in amazement and terror. Tristan knew just how they felt.

Finally, there was no one attacking them anymore. Tristan quickly turned to Lancelot. “Everything alright?”

Lancelot nodded. “I’ll check the wall. You go see if Arthur needs assistance.”

Tristan gladly turned around, though he was pretty sure he knew what he would find.

Arthur was gone, presumably into the main house. The courtyard was littered with casualties. Most of them were alive, but definitely out for the count. Other soldiers were kneeling on the ground, their weapons spread out in front of them. When Tristan looked up, he saw that most soldiers at his own level and on the wall were doing the same. The battle was over.

Lancelot reappeared and they met with Sir Bedivere and George in the courtyard.

“Alright?” Tristan asked again.

“Alright,” Sir Bedivere replied. George just smiled.

Tristan was just starting to breathe normally again when Arthur re-appeared. His face was grim. “Sir Ither isn’t here.”

“Could he have escaped?” Lancelot asked, then immediately answered his own question: “Mage would have seen him.”

“So it was a trap.”

They all digested that.

Sir Bedivere offered: “Or coincidence.”

“We’ll find out when we return to Camelot,” Arthur stated with a certain sense of fatalism. Maybe it was just tiredness, though. Speaking of which...

“Somehow, I don’t fancy staying here overnight,” Tristan said drily. “Something about having fought most of the inhabitants of a castle just doesn’t make it seem welcoming.”

“We move back into the woods,” Gwen suggested, “make sure no one follows us and set up camp. I need some sleep.”

“You’re not the only one,” Bill agreed, and Arthur nodded. “Let’s move out.”

They trudged outside, past wounded soldiers still trying to get their bearings. Arthur stopped to talk to one of the commanders, and Tristan saw the man nod. It seemed the resistance was over. Tristan wondered about that. Had they fought because Sir Ither had roped them into helping him on his mad quest? Or had they thought they were protecting their home, their women and children against aggressors?

He consoled himself with the reminder that Arthur _had_ announced himself before attacking. Why should they fight against their king, if not by order of their master? Still, Tristan would be glad to leave this castle behind.

 

Arthur disappeared as soon as they decided on a spot for the night. Tristan stayed to help build a fire and grab a bite to eat, but eventually, he’d had enough of waiting for him to return. This time, he made no bones about following Arthur. He thought he heard George chuckle, but that could have been anything. Tristan was tired and amped up with adrenaline still, and he didn’t care.

It took him a few minutes to find Arthur. This was a dark forest, after all, and Arthur must have walked farther this time. Finally, he found him, staring into the water of a small creek. Tristan hadn’t noticed it before, and made a mental note to fill up his flask before they left. Right now, however, he had other things on his mind.

Arthur looked - cold. Untouchable. And he still hadn’t let go of the sword.

Without turning his head, he asked: “You’re protecting your right hand.”

Tristan carefully moved his wrist this way, then that. “Well, it’s still working. Guessing it will be one hell of a bruise, but nothing broken.”

“Did you cool it?”

“With what?” Tristan laughed. “It’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

There was silence. Tristan didn’t really cope with that well. He moved closer to Arthur and lifted his uninjured hand to his face, his own dark skin a startling contrast to Arthur’s pale, blunt cheekbones. “It’s alright, Arthur.”

Arthur frowned. “What is?”

“The battle is over.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you let go of the sword?”

Arthur stared down at his own hand as if he hadn’t even noticed. He didn’t answer.

Tristan tried another tack. “Are you injured?”

“No. The sword… They couldn’t do anything to defend against it.”

 _Ah_ , Tristan thought. They’d come to the crux of the matter. The heavy weight of a crown was one thing. Being turned into a supernatural weapon was quite another.

He turned Arthur’s face back towards him. “Then drop the sword now. You have nothing to defeat or defend yourself against here.”

Arthur took a deep breath and dropped the sword.

Tristan felt himself smile. “I’m going to kiss you now, alright?”

“I’m not going to break.”

“Not what I was asking.”

Arthur kissed him, unwilling to talk about feelings as he was. Tristan led it slide this once. He was distracted, anyway, focusing on Arthur’s lips, his taste, his touch. This was their first kiss, he realized only as they were already having their third, their fourth, their fifth. It felt natural, like two friends who had known each other for most of their lives, and exciting, like two new lovers. It was _them_.

At some point, he gathered his wits enough to notice that they were both very obviously hard. An experimental press of his hips against Arthur’s got him a low grow that he could feel vibrating through his own chest, that’s how close they were.

Panting, he broke the kiss. “More?”

This time, Arthur didn’t hesitate, just said “Yes” and kissed him again.  

It took Tristan a second to open the fastenings while being distracted that way, but finally he threw aside Arthur’s furs, then urged him down. Arthur complied, but his hands made sure Tristan followed. Bracing his right elbow on the ground to hold himself up without putting pressure on his injury, Tristan let his left hand playfully move down Arthur’s chest. He saw him shirtless on a regular basis, so the sight didn’t exactly knock him out, but the touching part was new. Arthur helped him open his own trousers and pull them down, a tricky task with one functioning hand, but apart from that he laid back and let Tristan explore as much as he liked.

That suited Tristan just fine. He could have spent hours like this, but in the back of his mind he knew that it was late at night and that they needed to be on the road again early in the morning, so he moved on to touching Arthur’s cock rather more quickly than he’d like. He traced a line from root to tip, then back, then around, finally lightly rubbing the head. Arthur was quietly moaning, now, but Tristan still checked: “Good?”

“Yes.” Arthur’s left hand reached out, but instead of forcing Tristan to continue, he gripped his forearm on the ground just above the injury, looking like he was holding on for sheer life, his eyes closed and breath quick. Hmm. Tristan wasn’t quite in the mood to relinquish this closeness yet. His good hand moved downwards, giving a gentle caress to Arthur’s balls in passing before pressing down carefully behind them.

The reaction was immediate and obvious. Arthur’s free hand flew up to his mouth, his hips bucked up and, when Tristan repeated the pressure, his cock actually twitched. Oooh, that was a nice reaction, one Tristan was careful to file away. For now, though, he took mercy on Arthur (on both of them, really) and moved his hand back up to jerk his cock firmly, silently cursing his injury that prevented him from stimulating both places at once. Arthur didn’t seem to mind, though - when he came, his moans were audible even through the fist he had stuffed into his mouth. Tristan jerked him through it, feeling accomplished and really turned on at the same time. What a sight.

Finally, Arthur exhaled and took the fist away from his mouth. He looked calmer, now, relaxed in a way Tristan hadn’t seen him before. The smirk on his lips was familiar, though, as was the confidence with which he murmured: “Come here.”

Tristan didn’t need the invitation, not really. He kept some of his weight off Arthur with his good hand, but that didn’t last through Arthur opening his trousers and fisting his cock. He wavered and finally, was basically just lying on Arthur and fucking his fist while Arthur’s hand groped his arse. It was slightly dry but so, so good, and Tristan was way too keyed up for anything more complicated, anyway.

But he needed to muffle his noises, and that exposed patch of Arthur’s shoulder looked very tempting. For a moment, he hesitated. But no one would notice one more bruise the day after a battle, and Arthur was making no move to stop him. On the contrary, he sped up the movement of his hands when Tristan finally bit down, swearing softly.

When he pulled back after a considerable amount of time, Arthur was watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. “You should fuck me.”

Tristan would love to do that, but… “Not like this.” They had no oil, they were outside, Tristan was injured, the group was not too far away, they were filthy and exhausted and oh, the whole love spell thing, too. Tristan was, quite frankly, surprised that they had made it this far.

His lover actually had the gall to roll his eyes at him: “Duh.” If he hadn’t been so close to coming, Tristan would have smacked him.

Arthur made up for it, though, by leaning adding: “In the future. When we have time, oil and a bed, and you can take your time opening me up, fucking me real slow for ages…”

In the end, that’s what did it for Tristan. He groaned into Arthur’s shoulder and came in several long spurts. It felt good, a release that was both physical as well as mental, and he slumped down on Arthur, suddenly utterly exhausted.

Still, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t fall asleep immediately. Instead, he heard Arthur chuckle and something that was probably him wiping his hand. Whatever. There was water nearby, they could clean up in the morning. Tristan wasn’t moving.

Arthur seemed to be of the same mind, because he just pulled his coat over the both of them and settled down, his breath evening out into sleep within minutes. It didn’t escape Tristan’s notice that Arthur was the one with his back and head on the hard, cold ground, having pulled Tristan on top of him. There was a broad hand on his back, again, and Arthur showed no signs of letting go even in his sleep.

This king loved him. Tristan couldn’t quite let himself believe that yet - not until the potion’s spell had been broken - but he felt the knowledge quietly settle into his bones, nonetheless. This king, this man, _Arthur_ loved him, right here, right now. It was enough.

It had to be.  

 

If Mage hadn’t send one of her hawks ahead on Arthur’s request, scouting out the lands surrounding Camelot, they might have walked straight into the arms of an invading army the next day.

“Why is there an invading army in Camelot?” Tristan asked stupidly. He still thought it worth asking.

He saw Arthur’s gaze fixing on something, and followed it. Mage was white and shaking. Uh-oh.

“They’re Morgan le Fay’s,” she told them. “Sorceress-Queen of Avranchen.”

They all thought about that.

“This can’t just be a coincidence,” Sir Bedivere said. “We’re drawn away from the castle, which Sir Ither badly wants time to search, and the leader of a country we never had trouble with just _happens_ to invade in the meantime.”

“Well, if she’s a sorceress, she _does_ have reason to be troubled,” Tristan felt obliged to mention.

Lancelot’s thoughts were somewhere else. “These is one foot garrison stationed in Londinium, Sir, that we could meet up with.”

“And then?” Arthur asked simply.

“...that’s a good question,” Lancelot admitted. He turned back to Mage. “How many soldiers did you see?”

“About two thousand. Some of them will be mages.”

“So there’s an army between us and the castle we would use to defend against a siege, and that army is far bigger than ours,” Bill summarized. Suddenly, Tristan missed Back Lack something fierce. This was a prime set up for a dick joke if he’d ever heard one, and no one was making it.

“So we need a plan,” Sir Bedivere replied calmly.

All eyes turned to Arthur, but Mage was the first to speak. “I can’t help you.”

“Why?”

“She’s a sorceress, and I’m oath-bound not to fight my own.” She looked away. “There are too few of us, and she has helped many. We cannot afford to lose more.”

Arthur nodded, accepting that. “Merlin?”

“Trapped by Nimue,” Mage said.

Arthur frowned at her. “Nimue?”

“I will explain another day.”

“I suppose we couldn’t fix that within one night, anyway?” Tristan asked.

She nodded.

“Strike that, then,” Arthur ordered. “What else?”

“We could ask the Vikings for assistance,” Sir Bedivere said reluctantly. “Greybeard’s fleet is close enough. If we ride immediately…”

For a moment, Tristan allowed himself to hope at the thought of all these ships loaded with tall, bloodthirsty blonds coming to their aid. But Arthur shook his head, and Lancelot said: “They’d never leave again.”

These was silence for a moment.

“So, in other words: We won’t have outside help and if we don’t come up with a great plan very, very quickly, we’re fucked?” Arthur summarized.

Everyone nodded.

“Great.”

 

The morning of the battle dawned bright. Tristan saw it because he hadn’t actually gone to sleep last night. Arthur, always ready to nap where and when he could now that the nightmares had mostly stopped, had nodded off, but Tristan knew that an hour of sleep would make him have a headache, and this day promised to be enough of one in and of itself. So he had lain there, Arthur’s arm heavy around him, and tried to remember any of the prayers his mother had taught him when he had been very young.

He couldn’t remember the words, but the memory of her voice was comforting, nonetheless.

When he saw the first grey light creep through the trees, he nudged Arthur. “Wake up.”

His king grumbled and didn’t move. Tristan rolled his eyes fondly and elbowed him in the gut. That got him moving, not to mention swearing profusely.

After that, they got ready in silence. It took Tristan some time to pull on the armour he had been supplied with by one of the soldiers. He still felt a bit awkward in that thing, but this was going to be an all out battle. His usual leather vest wouldn’t cut it. Arthur, however, must have found something to appreciate in the sight, because he crossed the room in three long strides and kissed him. Their armour clanged together. Arthur’s grip on his hand was bruising. The kiss borderline hurt.

 _If a love potion makes me feel like this_ , Tristan thought wildly, _I never want it to end._

Of course, it had to, eventually. There was an army out there, waiting for their king to lead them into battle. But for now, Tristan chose to be selfish, just a little bit, and pulled Arthur closer.

 

It was surprisingly boring, riding into certain death. Morgan le Fay’s army was located five miles south of the castle, and since a lot of the soldiers were on foot, they only made walking-pace. The sun was shining high in the sky by the time they reached Camlann, or at least it would have been if this wasn’t still England and raining.

There wasn’t any dramatic stand-off. No dramatic speeches, no cloaks waving in the wind, no battle cry, no glory. Just two armies charging at each other so they could start trying to kill people.

Of course, Arthur’s soldiers were surrounded within the hour. They had been encircled quickly and been driven westward. Tristan could soon see why - there was a lakefront there, leaving them with nowhere to go.

Still, he and the other knights were holding their own. He’d been locked with this one soldier for some time, but finally he’d managed to separate her from her shield, and after a well-placed hit she went down.

He turned away from her, trying to catch his breath for a second. How long could they go on like this? Surely, soon, Arthur would - Suddenly, there was a blooming pain in his shoulder. Some bastard must have gotten him from behind. It was way too sudden and Tristan, clad in heavier armour than he was used to, had no way to mitigate his fall, painfully impacting on the ground. He stayed down.

It gave him a prime view of the lake, and what happened next.

First, he saw Morgan le Fay, calmly making her way through the battlefield as if there was no way it could touch her. It probably couldn’t. There was an aura of removedness around her, as if she wasn’t quite of this world, but not in the way one would say that of a saint. Instead, one would use the same tone of voice when describing a dragon.

Not that she was scaly or anything. Quite the opposite, actually. She sort of looked a lot like Arthur. Tall, blonde, with a good set of shoulders and a straight carriage. She looked very, very alive.

And Arthur was stepping up to meet her, sword drawn, but not attacking yet.

Tristan’s heart gave a small pang. He just looked tired.

“Brother.” Morgan le Fay’s voice was very cold.

Arthur, always one to be contrary, grinned at her. “Dear sister. What a nice family reunion this is.”

“So sad it won’t last for much longer,” she agreed.

“Won’t it?”

Morgan gestured at the battle around them. Tristan followed her gaze. It looked as though she spoke the truth. Arthur’s knights were trying to draw closer, to protect him from this evil sorceress, but it was three of her fighters against one of his. Everywhere he looked, he could see soldiers wearing the crest of Camelot fall down under the onslaught.

Arthur must have been seeing the same, but he didn’t let any pain show on his face. “We’re not quite defeated yet.”

“Oh, counting on your magic sword, are you, little brother?” Morgan sneered. “It won’t help you this time. I have more magic than you could ever dream of.”

“Ah, right, from you mother, right? Too bad father didn’t marry her or you would have some actual claim on this throne. As it is…”

Tristan thought it a bit rich of Arthur to insult anyone’s parentage, considering he grew up in a brothel and it was his own biological father they were talking about here.

He called his thoughts to order. Criticizing Arthur’s choice of insults wasn’t a priority right now.

“Marry her!” Morgan looked outraged at the suggestion. “She was a Mage, far more powerful than your father or uncle could ever hope to be, with their borrowed magic.”

“The sword was given to _our_ father by Merlin,” Arthur pointed out. “Doesn’t that carry some weight?”

Morgan laughed. “That old fool!” That was a ‘No’, then, Tristan supposed. Pity.

Behind them a falcon gave a loud cry.

Abruptly, Morgan seemed to lose her patience. She lifted a hand, and a broadsword materialized. “Your sword was made by the same mages your family slaughtered. I will not tolerate it in your hands any longer.”

She charged, and Arthur immediately went into a protective stance, and when they clashed, Tristan could see no more. It was all energy and shadows, now.

Maybe this was the alternate plane of reality that Arthur had mentioned when the talked about his fight with Vortigen? Whatever it was, it was both impressive and a nuisance. There was no chance of anyone helping Arthur now.

Tristan wondered, for a brief second, whether he should care more about protecting himself. Laying there as he was, anyone could easily slay him. They probably already thought him dead, however. Anyway, he couldn’t take his eyes off the blur of energy and fire that was his king and lover fighting with his sister.

Then, suddenly, he could see them clearly again. They were standing perfectly still, Arthur’s sword raised as if to strike Morgan - and Morgan’s sword running through his chest. Despite having, somewhere deep down, known that it would come to this, Tristan’s heart just about stopped in his chest.

Morgan laughed and lunged backwards, pulling her weapon out of her opponent.

Arthur was looking down at the dripping wound. He didn’t even try to stem the bleeding, and somehow that hurt Tristan the most. Arthur had given up.

It felt like world had stopped turning, but still time moved on.

Morgan raised both hands and a pulse of - energy, maybe? - shot through the air. Tristan could feel it tickle his bones and slow down his blood. The other soldiers must have felt it, too, because the sounds of fighting ebbed away.

“Watch,” she said, her voice carrying across the battlefield with apparent ease, “as your king dies.”

Tristan couldn’t get up, couldn’t run up to Arthur’s side and hold his hands as he wanted to. Instead, it was Gwen who dropped to her knees beside him, crying openly.

Arthur smiled at her, pain in his eyes. “It’s alright, Gwen.”

“Arthur,” was all she said, but it conveyed everything it needed to.

The fallen king turned his head with what looked like a lot of effort. “Sir Bedivere?”

Sir Bedivere knelt down next to him solemnly. “Yes, my king?”

“As my seneschall, you have one last duty to perform,” Arthur ground out. “Return the sword.”

Sir Bedivere hesitated. “But-”

“Now, Sir Bedivere.”

Tristan could still see reluctance on the seneschall’s face as he took Arthur’s sword from where it had fallen. No doubt he thought it was foolishness to throw away a magical weapon that could still be of a lot of use to the kingdom. Tristan saw Arthur’s point though. Excalibur had been bound to Uther’s bloodline by Merlin. If Arthur died, there was only one person with that blood left…

Others must have followed the same train of thought, for Lancelot stepped between the sword and Morgan le Fay, and Sir Bedivere kept a wary eye on her as he made his way to the lake.

The sorceress, however, allowed him to walk uninterrupted, a scornful smile on her face. She was glowing with triumph.

With great ceremony, Sir Bedivere threw excalibur into the lake. Tristan thought he might have seen a pale hand grab the hilt before it sank, but he couldn’t be sure, and anyway, his eyes were dragged back to Arthur, still bleeding, and Morgan. There was a new figure kneeling on the ground beside Gwen now: a knight in red armour.

The small group was whispering - and then suddenly, Tristan could hear them loud and clear. In fact, he’d bet good money that the whole battlefield could. Someone was using magic.

“I can help you, my king,” Sir Ither was saying. “Just one sip from the grail, and that wound will be nothing at all to you.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Did you try it?”

“Yes, my king. The grail is mine now. It obeys me. I can give it to you, right now, and you can _live_. Just remember who gave eternal youth to you…”

Arthur sat up straight and thundered: “Then you have stolen from me, and worse yet, from England. Did I not expressly forbid you to seek the Grail?”

Sir Ither clearly wasn’t too bright, because he took no notice of the way Arthur was suddenly sitting without problems or the strength in his voice and just sneered: “Then die, my king, and maybe your successor will be wiser.”

Arthur, however, seemed too reluctant to do him this favour. Instead, he jumped - jumped! - up on his feet and looked at Morgan. “Is this proof enough for you, my lady?”

She nodded, looking thunderous. “Yes, Arthur.”

Tristan was briefly distracted by a hand clamping his shoulder. It was one of Morgan’s soldiers. “You alright there, lad?” she asked.

Tristan nodded, but was grateful for her assistance in getting up. “It was a very nice blow,” he congratulated her, “I don’t think anyone would have doubted that I was as good as dead. I would have been with a slightly different angle.”

The solder looked gratified. “It’s all about leverage.”

“If you ever want to offer lessons, sign me up.”

They both turned back towards their leaders.

“What-” Sir Ither was sputtering.

Morgan smiled. It didn’t look friendly. “I had a very interesting visitor last night, Sir Ither.”

“You miscalculated, you know,” Arthur added.

 

_Turned out it was impossible to sneak up on a sorceress. Arthur took it philosophically and merely lifted his hands to show the three armoured soldiers coming to escort them that he was unarmed._

_He was only accompanied by Sir Bedivere, Gwen and Tristan. In case this went terribly wrong, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have some knights left to lead their army. Gwen, being the future queen, had a right to be here, given it was her head on the chopping block, too. As for the others… Arthur still wasn’t feeling like being separated from Tristan, and Sir Bedivere gave every discussion a certain amount of gravitas. Not to mention he was the only one of their little group that hadn’t been raised in the gutters. Just in case Morgan le Fay turned out to be a snob._

_So far, however, she was nothing but terrifyingly competent in her choice of guards. Her knights did a much more thorough search of their persons than any guard of Londinium ever had. It kinda made Arthur wish he’d had time for a bath. Oh well, nothing to do about that now._

_Finally they were led to a large fire in the middle of the camp. Waiting for them was Morgan le Fay._

_Arthur’s first thought was that she was taller than him._

_In turn, “I assume you must be my brother,” was the first thing she said to him._

_This wasn’t exactly how Arthur had pictured this going. “...I’m pretty sure my family is dead.”_

_“Half-brother, who cares.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Are you Arthur, King of the Britons?”_

_“Yes. And are you Morgan le Fay, Sorceress-Queen of Avranchen?”_

_“That I am.” She mustered the little group. “And your companions are?”_

_“Lady Guinevere, my betrothed and future Queen of the Britons.” Gwen sank into a curtsy. Arthur hadn’t even known she could do that._

_“Sir Bedivere, my Seneschall, and Sir Tristan, Knight of the Round Table.” The two bowed._

_“And why, King Arthur, King of the Britons, should I not kill you on the spot?”_

_Now for the tricky part. “We came as unarmed representatives of our country,” Arthur said carefully. “We seek to find out how we drew your ire.”_

_Suddenly, it was as if an icy wind was howling through the clearing. The temperature dropped by several degrees when Morgan raised her voice. “You need ask that? For decades, my people have been hunted to extinction. I have taken the refugees in! I have heard their stories! And now, you continue the slaughter!”_

_“My uncle did, yes. All I’ve done since then is changing the laws and trying to give assistance to survivors”, Arthur said, fighting the urge to back away. There was nothing demonic about her, and yet she was more terrifying than Vortigen’s demon-form had ever been._

_“You lie to save yourself.”_

_“There’s a mage in our camp, about half a mile South from here. She didn’t want to accompany us for fear of being torn between her oaths, but I’m sure you have ways of knowing if she speaks the truth. Ask her.”_

_Morgan considered it. Then she turned around. How powerful did someone have to be to knowingly turn their back on their enemies? Maybe it was a test. Either way, Arthur didn’t intend to move a muscle._

_“Go to their camp and ask the mage. Keep a close eye on them,” she ordered, and left._

_It seemed like ages before she returned. Arthur wasn’t nervous anymore - everything was working out well - but still he was grateful for the press of Tristan’s shoulder against his as they sat in front of the fire._

_Finally, Morgan returned. Arthur was about to get up, ready for another faceoff, but she just waved it off and sat down on the ground across from him._

_“It seems you spoke the truth,” she said, noticeably more relaxed now. “My apologies, brother.”_

_“Not at all,” he replied graciously. It was very easy to be gracious about not being killed, after all._

_“I’m sorry,” Gwen piped up, “but can we return to the part where you’re his sister?”_

_Yeah, that. Arthur would very much like to know about it. Though now that he thought about it… there was something vaguely familiar about her face._

_“Ah, I wondered whether you’d even know,” she said. “I don’t think your father’s affair with my mother was widely known.”_

_“She was a mage, then?” Sir Bedivere asked. “I might have known her. I was the captain of the guard back then.”_

_“Her name was Elaine,” Morgan told him._

_Sir Bedivere’s grimace told Arthur that yes, that affair most likely happened, though all he said out loud was: “I remember her. She was beautiful.”_

_“She was a good queen to her people, later,” Morgan said, sounding reminiscent. “When she was in France, and our father married.”_

_“Why did you leave?” Arthur asked._

_“You of all people need to ask that?”_

_Well, actually, yes, just in case his family had anymore skeletons in their closets that he hadn’t discovered yet. “Not even Maggie knew of you. Did Uther banish your mother?” Somewhere deep down, he didn’t want to think of his father like that, but he squashed the feeling. After all, he didn’t really know the man._

_“Morgause did. Uther didn’t interfere with the internal issues of mages, so that bastard got his way.” She spat on the ground, and some women behind her did the same. From all Arthur had heard of him, that was a fair reaction to the un-lamented ex-leader of the mages. After a second, Morgan gathered herself. “His spell didn’t waver even after he died.”_

_“Vortigen took his magic,” Arthur explained. “I assume he had good reason not to want you to return.” That only left one potential heir to the throne to find and kill._

_Talking of heirs... again it was Gwen who asked the important question. “Are you going to make a claim on the throne?”_

_Morgan didn’t answer right away. Instead, she mustered Arthur from head to toe. He endured it calmly and returned her gaze without flinching._

_“What would you do if I did?”_

_Arthur shrugged. He’d been wondering the same, to be honest. He was still a bit dubious as to how throne succession actually worked - was it more important to be older or to be born in wedlock? Was gender important? Arthur bet it was, officially at least. Privately, he didn’t consider married parents or being a man qualifying factors for leading a country._

_“It would depend on how you went about it, and what you intended to do with it.” He did his best so that his tone of voice only sounded honest, not threatening._

_For a second, there was silence. Then Morgan laughed. “Well said. I am here because I was told that mages are in danger. That you secretly pursued the same agenda as our uncle. Now that I know it is not so, I will return to my own kingdom. I have no interests in ruling a land that I can’t even remember, brother.”_

_Arthur smiled, feeling the tension between his shoulder blades ease.  “Then I hope for friendship between our kingdoms, sister.”_

_She offered him a hand, and he took it. They shook on it._

_Behind them, Tristan spoke for the first time. “The one who told you mages were in danger wouldn’t happen to be an English knight in red armour, would it?”_

_Morgan nodded. “Sir Ither, yes. He will be very sorry.” The gentle tone of voice in which the words were uttered did not take away from their truthfulness at all. “Why? Do you know him?”_

_“That we do,” Gwen replied, her expression grim._

_“In fact,” Arthur added, “I wonder if we might ask for your help in that matter…”_

 

“If you’d just gone in, taken the Grail and ran away very quickly, you might have gotten away with it,” Goosefat Bill said, looking mildly impressed.

“But you just had to gloat, didn’t you? Try to curry Arthur’s favour?” Tristan added. He’d come across such types before in his time in Londinium. They annoyed the shit out of him, and this particular one had been willing to start a war for his very own pipe dream.

“But - the sword - you threw it-” Sir Ither stammered.

“Oh, that.” Arthur shrugged and went to the shore of the lake, calling out: “Sorry about that! May I have it back?”

He thrust his hand into the water and pulled his sword out by the hilt. Tristan thought that they would have to send the Lady of the Lake some flowers after this. Tea roses? With some nice seaweed, maybe?

Arthur was walking back to Sir Ither. “Kneel,” he ordered.

The knight did so, visibly mute with fear.

Arthur looked at Morgan. “With your permission?”

She nodded, and Arthur cut Sir Ither’s head cleanly off his shoulders.

“Well, that’s that done,” the knight next to Tristan said, “and a weirder day I’ve never had.”

 

After some cleanup, they were finally, _finally_ , riding back to the castle. Tristan was _so_ ready for a bath, some food and then sleep.

In contrast Lancelot, on the horse next to Tristan, didn’t seem tired at all. He was joking that he might take that red armour - it was rather fetching, after all. The look Gwen gave him suggested she thought it would suit him. Tristan quickly resolved not to think about that.

It did remind him of one as yet unsolved issue, however. He urged his horse to walk more quickly, in order to catch up with Morgan’s. “Could I ask a question, your Majesty?”

She gave him a tolerant look. “Yes?”

Now, how to word this? “Sir Ither… this wasn’t his first attempt at stirring unpleasantness.”

“I guessed it wouldn’t be.”

“He managed to spike Arthur’s drink with a love potion.”

“Sir Ither wasn’t very original, was he? Anyway, unless he got his hand on one made by a master - and he didn’t - no such spell will last beyond Arthur using that magic sword of his. It will have broken as soon as we duelled.”

“But - he used the sword two days ago!” Tristan protested without thinking.

“Then the spell was broken at that moment, both for him and the… other person afflicted. If the... symptoms persist, I suggest you start looking into other causes.” She actually winked.

But that - that cause would be -

Tristan could feel a wide grin spread over his face as the reality of the situation sank in. The love potion had stopped working at Sir Ither’s castle. Everything they had shared after had been absolutely, undeniably real. And everything before that, too, Tristan was now sure.

“You should probably tell Arthur,” Morgan told him. Tristan wasn’t quite sure whether she was talking about the potion or his feelings, but it didn’t matter either way.

“I will,” he promised. And he would. Tonight, when they had bathed and eaten a decent meal, he would sit Arthur down and finally talk about everything, no wine or potions or battle involved at all. And then, with some luck, he would finally know what it was like to be held by Arthur in a real bed, warm and comfortable and surrounded by protective walls.

He couldn’t wait to find out.

**Works inspired by this one:**

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